


days that you hardly recognize him

by goldenthunderstorms



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Indie Music, M/M, POV Third Person, and fatm, because I'm tired of writing modern british people, eton is just 'boarding school', indie gays, mentions of abuse, monty is a theatre kid, monty with painted nails, percy pov, they like t swift, they're in an unspecified area of america, they're like 17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-31 01:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21039965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenthunderstorms/pseuds/goldenthunderstorms
Summary: "It isn’t that he watches out for Monty because he feels obligated to. It’s true that there isn’t anyone else that cares for Monty, but that isn’t why Percy does it. He loves Monty, truly. He loves Monty so much that he feels like it could suffocate him. But it’s hard to love someone when there are days that you hardly recognize him, when you’re not sure if he even still recognizes himself."Monty's really going through it and Percy is just trying to be there for him.





	days that you hardly recognize him

**Author's Note:**

> this was longer than intended but here it is! nothing like the og idea (like most of my works)  
obvious gents guide fic tws like alcohol and abuse mentions

Percy was always worried about Monty. Always. Ever since Monty got kicked out of school, he’d been worried. He thought he would always  _ be  _ worried, fretting over Monty until he drank himself to death.

Today, Percy was especially worried. Monty and his father had a reckoning earlier that day, about what Percy doesn’t know. He knows Monty left with a black eye and a slight limp. Now Monty wants to go out.

“Are you sure? Your father—”

“Father doesn’t give two shits where I’m off to tonight,” Monty interrupts.

“Monty,” Percy tries again. But Monty isn’t easy to reason with like this. He gets extra stubborn, extra standoffish.

“You don’t have to come along, you know,” Monty says.

“But I—”

“I’m not asking you to come, Perce. I’m just telling you.” Monty is still spreading makeup (stolen from his mother) over his black eye. He looks back at Percy, half of the bruise covered. He turns back to the mirror on his desk. “I never force you to go out with me.”

Percy wants to protest but he knows Monty is right. He never drags Percy. Percy may not always be ecstatic about going, but he always  _ agreed  _ to go. And it’s not like he tries to stop Monty every time, no matter how much he wants to. But tonight—Percy can just tell—is a  _ bad night _ for Monty to go out. “I’ll go with you.”

“I don’t need you.”

Percy knows Monty only means that he can handle drinking without him, but the way Monty says it stings. Percy toys with the notion that Monty would probably have choked on his own drunk-vomit if not for him, then realizes that Monty doesn’t need to hear that right now.

“I want to go with you,” Percy rephrases.

Monty gives him a look that says  _ You’re lying and we both know it _ but doesn’t actually say anything. He finishes with the makeup and goes to put on his shoes and grab his stuff. “Right then, are we going? I’d like to sneak out sooner rather than later.”

Percy just nods and follows Monty. As usual, they leave without trouble. Not for the first time, Percy almost wishes they would be caught and stopped. Monty shouldn’t be leaving right now. Monty shouldn’t be running off to drink himself into a stupor or into someone’s bed.

Monty drives them and when they get out, he walks ahead of Percy, stiff. Percy wonders what Monty’s father was angry about. Percy wonders if this is the straw that breaks the camel's back, or when that straw will fall. Percy hates it every time he thinks so, but he doesn’t fully believe Monty will live past nineteen. Not even at eighteen, he’s already an alcoholic with no will to live. Percy often wonders where his best friend has gone and when Percy will get him back. Other times he wonders if this  _ is  _ his best friend now and he’s lost Monty to his father and liquor and parties and boys and girls and strangers’ beds.

It isn’t Monty’s usual club that he leads Percy to or any one of them. This one is more intense in all senses of the word: darker, louder, more crowded. The main sources of light are the various strobe lights and the lights over the bar. The music is headache-inducing and there are more people making out than not.

“Why are we here?” Percy asks.

Monty shrugs. “Felt like a change in scenery.”

With that, he makes his way in and weaves through people so fast that Percy loses him. The club is near-packed and Percy wonders if that was Monty’s intention: find a crowded place so Percy couldn’t keep an eye on him. Trust Henry Montague to keep up with all the clubs in town, even the ones he doesn’t like.

Percy tries to keep up with him. He catches glances of Monty in the crowd and more often than not, he’s knocking back a glass. Finally, Monty is sitting at the bar with an empty glass, negotiating with the tender for a refill.

“—a limit, son,” the tender is saying. He’s also eyeing Monty like he’s still skeptical about whatever fake ID Monty showed him (as he should be).

“And how much does it cost to push it?” Monty asks. His voice is slurring and Percy knows Monty is making an effort to keep his speech coherent.

The bartender pauses for a moment like he’s considering. “That depends on how much you’ll pay.”

Before Monty gets the chance to make an offer, Percy runs up to the bar and grabs Monty’s arm.

“Let’s go,” Percy says, hauling Monty to his feet and pulling him away from the bar.

Monty seems to take a moment to realize he’s being pulled. He lets himself be dragged for a few seconds before he pulls against Percy.

“Let go of me,” Monty says.

“We need to go home,” Percy replies.

Monty pulls his arm out of Percy’s grip. “I told you, you don’t have to be here.”

“Monty, you’ve had too much to drink for tonight.”

“I’m fine. I can drink more.”

“I know you  _ can _ , but you  _ shouldn’t _ .”

“That’s not up to you, you know.” Monty starts to walk away and Percy grabs for his wrist again but Monty slips away.

Monty must be avoiding him now because Percy can’t find him anywhere. But then he does. Monty is sitting with a much older man who’s smiling and touching Monty’s leg. Monty looks miserable, but he’s knocking back another drink so Percy has a pretty good idea of what went down. Monty doesn’t do this often but he must be desperate. Whatever happened with his father must have been bad.

The man slides Monty another drink and his hand climbs higher up Monty’s leg. Monty downs the next drink faster. Then the man stands and tugs Monty with him. Monty looks drunk out of his mind and like he wants to be anywhere but here. Percy knows that look on his face too well. He rushes forward to grab Monty’s other arm.

“Monty! There you are! We should get going.”

The older man looks at Percy like a piece of shit on his boot. “Can we help you?”

Monty’s staring at the ground. He’s wobbling a little. Percy grips him tighter.

“Just gotta get him home. It’s getting late and his parents are worried,” Percy half lies.

The man looks to Monty, then lets go of him. Monty stumbles into Percy, who pulls him close as the man walks away.

“I didn’t need you to do that,” Monty says.

Percy doesn’t think he’s heard Monty right. For one, he’s speaking quiet and his speech is slurred. But surely he’s not upset with Percy for saving him from that creep. “You’re welcome, Monty.”

Monty pulls away from Percy. He stumbles again but refuses to let Percy hold him up. “I was fine. That was fine. You didn’t have to come help me.”

“That was definitely  _ not  _ fine. You looked miserable, and he was going to take advantage of you.”

“So?”

_ “So?”  _ Percy echoes, incredulous. When Monty doesn’t respond, Percy shakes his head. “We need to go.”

“You can leave.”

_ “We,”  _ Percy repeats.

“You don’t need me.”

“Monty, you need to go home. You’re drunk and you’re going to do something stupid.”

Monty doesn’t respond again, just turns and walks away.

Percy follows, determined not to let Monty walk into trouble. “Monty!”

“Go home, Perce!” Monty calls back. He weaves through people, trying to get away from Percy. When Percy loses sight of him this time, he doesn’t bother chasing him.

\---

Monty doesn’t come back until the next morning, looking wrecked. Percy notices when he comes over that afternoon and Monty is sprawled on his bed, hair disheveled, makeup smeared on his face so you can see the bruises, in only a t-shirt and boxers. Percy notes that the t-shirt is his, probably stolen the last time Monty was at his house. He focuses on this and tries not to think about marks on Monty that weren’t there before: fingerprints and bitemarks.

It makes Percy want to just sit down and scream or just lay next to Monty on his bed and pull him close and never move. Percy is so  _ tired _ . Keeping track of Monty is so emotionally exhausting but it’s not like there is anyone else who will.

It isn’t that he watches out for Monty because he feels obligated to. It’s true that there isn’t anyone else that cares for Monty, but that isn’t why Percy does it. He loves Monty, truly. He loves Monty so much that he feels like it could suffocate him. But it’s hard to love someone when there are days that you hardly recognize him, when you’re not sure if he even still recognizes himself. 

Percy doesn’t do either of the things he wants to. He sits on the end of Monty’s bed and flicks Monty’s forehead.

Monty groans and rolls over.

Percy flicks him again. “It’s late, even for you.”

“New record,” Monty replies, voice muffled by a pillow.

Percy picks up a different pillow and whacks Monty with it. “Monty, it’s two-thirty.”

“Oh,” Monty says, sitting up. He starts to slide out of bed and reaches for a pair of jeans.

Percy snorts. “I’m sorry, is there somewhere you’ve got to be?”

Monty stops for a moment, silent.

“Monty?” Percy frowns.

“I’m meeting someone,” Monty says shortly. His bedroom floor suddenly seems very interesting.

“What? Who?” Percy asks. As far as Percy knew, he was Monty’s only friend. Monty had friends at boarding school, but when he came home he was so withdrawn, and word of his expulsion spread fast.

Monty mumbles a name. Monty can lie. He can lie through his teeth with an angelic smile. But he can’t lie to Percy and they both know that.

“What?”

Monty mumbles again and it sounds like  _ Richard. _

_ “Richard Peele?!”  _ Percy exclaims.

Monty shushes him, clamping a hand over Percy’s mouth.

Percy swats at Monty’s wrist. “Why the hell are you meeting Dick Peele? We hate Richard Peele!”

“We do,” Monty agrees.

“So what are you meeting him for?”

Monty doesn’t answer. “I really need to leave soon.” He steps around Percy to find shoes.

“Monty, you really don’t. Richard treats you like trash!” Percy protests. He knows that Monty still hooks up with Richard Peele sometimes. Richard always makes Monty feel awful about it, then turns around and swears he’s straight and joins the other guys at their school in hating Monty. Percy truly doesn’t understand why Monty still comes when Richard calls.

“God, why are you so worried? It’s fine.”

“Monty—”

“Perce, really,” Monty says as he finally digs out shoes that had been tossed haphazardly into his closet. “It’s just Richard’s.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

“You don’t have to keep trying to protect me,” Monty says. He’s starting to sound irritated.

“I just don’t want you getting hurt,” Percy says quietly. “I’m trying to help you, Monty.”

“If I want your help, I’ll ask for it. Okay?” Monty slides past Percy again to leave, leaving Percy standing in his bedroom.

Percy watches Monty leave.

He stares at the wall, processing. On the wall, there are pictures, playbills. Monty had been really into theatre in boarding school. He was in drama club; he and Percy saw shows when he came home on breaks. Monty once texted Percy while he was tipsy, saying that he felt like he best knew who he was when playing someone else.

Monty hasn’t been really into anything since he was expelled and his father beat the life out of him.

Percy sighs, touching Monty’s face in one of the pictures. Monty is grinning in front of a theater where they had seen  _ Heathers _ , Percy’s arm around him. Percy knows that Monty didn’t suddenly become depressed when he came home, that it had been there for a long time. But there was a time when Monty was more than his trauma. Percy doesn’t know where that Monty has been hidden away.

He wishes he could find him.

\---

That night, Percy tries to not worry while cleaning and listening to Hozier.

Subsequently, he worries more.

All he can think about is Monty at Richard’s. Usually, Percy doesn’t know until after the fact, when all he can be is disappointed.

Percy’s phone chimes, the opening notes to  _ Hamilton _ . It’s Monty. (He set that three years ago when Monty forced Percy to listen to it and Percy never changed it.)

**Monty: ** are you awake

**Percy: ** Yes??

**Monty: ** are you home

**Percy: ** Yes???

**Monty: ** look out your window

**Percy: ** That is TERRIFYING to read

**Monty: ** just do it asshole

**Monty:** it’s cold out here

Percy sighs. He goes to his window and there’s Monty, crouching in the bushes. He slides the window open.

“What are you doing?” Percy asks, stepping back.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Monty replies, climbing inside. “I’m breaking in.”

“It’s not really breaking in if I opened the window for you.”

“Details.” Monty flops ungracefully onto Percy’s newly made bed. A fluffy gray pillow falls off but Percy doesn’t bother picking it up.

Percy can’t help smiling a little. He sits on the floor, leaning against his bed next to Monty’s feet. “Why’d you come through the window?”

“Why not?” Monty says.

“Was it because of my dad?”

“No! Well, maybe a little.”

“He doesn’t hate you, you know.”

“But he doesn’t  _ like  _ me, either.”

“Since when do you care what adults think of you?”

Monty just grunts in reply. He slides off of the bed to sit next to Percy, leaning his head on Percy’s shoulder. “What are you listening to?”

Percy realizes that his music is still playing and has switched to  _ Lungs _ . “Florence.”

“Ew.”

“My room, my music.”

“Overruled. This should be a democracy.”

“More of a benevolent dictatorship,” Percy replies, putting an arm around Monty’s shoulders.

Moments like these, Percy can almost recognize Monty. Percy can see bits of his best friend shining through and he feels like they’re okay again. 

“Is there a reason for this breaking-and-entering?” he asks.

“Can’t I just come to see you?”

“I’m not complaining, Monty. But it’s getting late, and you haven’t been home all day have you?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Your parents?”

“I’m an adult.”

“You’re seventeen.”

“It’s not like they care anyway.” Monty presses his face into Percy’s neck, clearly not wanting to continue the conversation.

Instinctively, Percy runs his fingers through Monty’s hair. He’s not sure that he can argue. Monty’s parents have given up, letting Monty fly off the rails. Of course, he receives “consequences” from his father, which only do more harm than good. Percy wants to grab the shoulders of Monty’s parents and shake them so hard that their teeth chatter. He wants to scream at them. He wants someone to care about what happens to Monty other than him. But not even Monty cares what happens to Monty.  _ I do _ , he wants to tell Monty.  _ When will you? Why did you stop? _

Instead, he says, “Are you staying the night, then?”

“If you’ll let me.”

“I always let you.”

Percy feels Monty’s smile. “Can’t go a night without me, darling?”

Percy laughs a little. “Of course not. You know my world revolves around you, Monty.” He says it lightly, but sadly, he knows it’s true. He may have other friends and do things without Monty, but it always comes back to him.

“As it should,” Monty replies. He shifts so his cheek is resting on Percy’s shoulder again. He reaches to play with the hem of Percy’s sweatshirt (a  _ Taylor Swift  _ sweatshirt from a concert that Monty dragged him to and Percy ended up loving). Percy notices the nail polish: a pale, sparkly pink. It’s a little messy and chipped in some places, but clearly recent. Percy hadn’t noticed until now.

If it’s really recent, Percy doesn’t have to guess what Monty’s meeting with his father was about.

“I like your nails,” Percy says softly.

Monty tenses, but only for a second. “Oh, thanks.”

“Did you paint them?”

Monty nods.

“They’re nice. They suit you.”

“Thanks, Perce,” Monty says again. “Richard, uh, wasn’t very fond of them.”

“Who cares what Dick thinks?” Percy says. He cares. He’s already decided that when they all came back from winter break, he is going to smash Peele’s pretty Porsche with a baseball bat.

Monty shrugs weakly.

Percy laces their fingers and squeezes. “Think you’d do mine sometime?”

Monty looks up, raising an eyebrow. “You’d want me to?”

Percy nods. “Of course.”

That brings them to Percy’s car, with Percy driving them to the nearest CVS for nail polish and more likely than not, ice cream. Monty has chosen Taylor Swift for music. Percy doesn’t mind. It feels almost juvenile, like they’re girls in middle school. But it’s good. It’s so,  _ so  _ good. It’s this sense of normalcy like Monty is really Percy’s best friend. He knows that Monty  _ is, _ but it doesn’t always feel like it.

But Monty is smiling, a soft cautious smile, and singing along to  _ Lover  _ under his breath. He’s curled up in the passenger seat. Usually, Percy would tell him to put on a seatbelt but right now he can’t be bothered.

They make it to CVS and Percy follows Monty to the nail polish. Percy picks up a hot pink. “What do you think? Should I match you?” He holds up the bottle for Monty’s inspection.

Monty barely looks at it before shaking his head. “Pink is definitely not your color. Let me look.” He sifts through the racks for a moment before grabbing two bottles: a glittery gold and silver. “These two.”

\---

They do end up getting milkshakes on the way home. Now, Monty and Percy are sitting on Percy’s carpet while Monty paints Percy’s nails and sips a chocolate milkshake.  _ Hadestown  _ plays softly on Percy’s speaker.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” Percy asks. Monty has been painting his nails with more precision and focus than Percy has ever seen him do anything.

“Nowhere, I just . . . did it.”

“You’re good at it.”

“Thanks, Perce. Now quit twitching, you’re gonna mess me up.”

Percy does as Monty says, letting him finish.

“Okay, I’m done. But they’re not dry yet, so you still can’t move.”

“How am I supposed to drink my milkshake?”

Monty picks up the strawberry milkshake and holds it to Percy’s mouth, who, with a laugh, drinks it. “Well, what do you think of them?” Monty asks after.

Percy lifts his hands to examine his nails. They’re alternating gold and silver, even neater than Monty’s (probably because Monty didn’t have to use his left hand this time). “I love them. Thanks, Monty.”

When Monty smiles—a real, full-dimpled smile that he’s trying and failing to hide—Percy can finally recognize him.

\---

Percy stands at the threshold of a hospital room, bracing himself for what he’s about to see. Felicity stands at his side, rocking on her heels.

“Our parents left for a little bit, but you should probably get in there. I don’t know when they’ll be back,” she says.

Percy nods.

Twenty minutes earlier, Percy had been on his bed, studying for the physics test that their teacher had promised the week they got back (and Percy is awful at science in general). It had only been two days since his night with Monty. He hadn’t heard from Monty since the morning after that night, but he hadn’t been worried. Sometimes he and Monty would go days without talking before one of them would send a meme to the other and they would pick up like they always did. Percy didn’t think anything of a day and a half’s silence.

Then, Percy’s father called upstairs: “Percy! There’s a young lady at the door for you!”

Percy couldn’t imagine who would be here to see him, but he went downstairs regardless.

“Felicity!” She was standing in the doorway, looking disheveled in sweatpants and a hoodie compared to her typical button-ups and trousers.

“Hi, Percy,” she said. She was winding the end of her braid around her finger, a nervous habit. “So, I’d rather explain in the car, but Monty’s in the hospital.”

Percy could have sworn he felt his knees give out beneath him. He grabbed the door handle to steady himself. “Oh, o-okay.” It had never been that bad. There were times where it might have been, times when Percy suspected Monty might have a damaged rib, but Monty had never actually gone to the hospital.

Felicity had a no-nonsense look in her eye as she grabbed Percy’s other hand. “I know this is unexpected. I’m sorry I had to spring it on you and you need time to process but we really need to go.”

On the drive (in Percy’s car because Felicity wasn’t old enough to drive and had been dropped at Percy’s house by a friend), Felicity explained that the night before, their father had beaten Monty. There was a lot of blood and Monty had lost consciousness. When he wouldn’t come to, they brought him to the hospital. Felicity tried to explain the medical process behind it all, but Percy was too worried to register much other than the fact that some part of Monty’s ear had been damaged. All he wanted was to see Monty, know he was alright.

Now, he’s scared to see Monty. He’s working himself up to open the door of Monty’s hospital room and step inside.

“Percy,” Felicity says. “Come on. You’re the only person he’ll trust right now but he didn’t want to call you. I guess he didn’t want you to worry, though I can’t pretend to understand how Henry’s mind works. But he needs you.”

Percy takes a deep breath. “Okay, can I just . . . see him alone?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll go down to the coffee shop downstairs. I’ll let you know if I see our parents.” With that, Felicity slips off.

Percy gives himself three more seconds before walking in.

There are days when Percy hardly recognizes Monty. But now, he doesn’t recognize him at all. Percy can’t reconcile this pale, scared, frail person with dazed eyes, a busted lip, bruised cheeks, and a bandaged head with his best friend.

If Monty notices Percy coming in, he doesn’t show it. It’s like he isn’t even here. Propped up on hospital pillows, he stares at the ceiling. Percy wants to throw something, break something, scream, burn the building down.

_ What has he done to you?  _ Percy wants to ask.  _ How can I undo it? Is there anything I can salvage from this? Are you ruined? _

“Felicity called you?” Monty breaks the silence. His voice is small, hoarse.

“Showed up on my doorstep, actually,” Percy says. He’s vaguely reminded of the first time he was in the hospital with a seizure, when all the tests and procedures had to be done to determine that he had epilepsy. He’d texted Monty to explain where he was and explicitly told Monty not to come to the hospital. Of course, Monty snuck in. Percy had been irritated with him at first, but soon he was glad Mony was there.

Percy hopes that Monty can feel the same now.

“Can I sit?” Percy asks, gesturing to the hospital bed.

Monty nods.

Percy perches himself on the edge of the hospital bed. From here, he can see the bandages better. The right side of Monty’s head is bandaged more thoroughly, and closer, Percy can notice Monty swaying a little as he sits upright.

They stare at each other for a moment, Monty shying away from Percy’s gaze a bit. Percy can’t help how obviously he pities Monty. “Well,” Monty asks after being scrutinized, “don’t you want to know what happened?”

“I have a guess,” Percy says softly. He doesn’t know if Monty would appreciate the fact that Felicity had already told.

“Someone should know what actually happened,” Monty says.

“What do you mean?”

“Mother is defending him. Lying for him. She made up some story for the doctors. She said I got into a fight, I think.”

Percy was shocked, to say the least. Monty’s mother wasn’t his favorite person, obviously, but he didn’t think she was cruel. She and Monty were almost close, when Monty was young. Percy always thought maybe she was trapped with Monty’s father too. Clearly, that wasn’t the case. “Why,” Percy stammers, “why would she do that?”

Monty shrugs. He stares at his lap, picking at his nails. Percy notices that his nails are horribly chipped now, though that’s hardly the most pressing issue. It just feels like another thing wrong with this picture, a splinter while trying to lift a tree off your house.

“Scoot over,” Percy orders, shifting to sit beside Monty. Monty obliges.

Monty goes to lay his head on Percy’s shoulder, then stops. “Damnit,” he mutters.

“What?” Percy asks.

“I can’t—” Monty stops, sighs, then continues, “I can’t do that. I can’t really  _ hear  _ out of my right ear.”

“You can’t hear?” Percy frowns.

Monty shakes his head. “Nope, Father got a few good swings in and the ringing in my ears just . . . didn’t stop. They don’t know if it’s permanent or not.” Monty says it all with a rehearsed calmness. Clearly, he’s had time to freak out about all of it before Percy got here, probably alone.

“That’s . . .” Percy can’t think of what to say. Usually, he can come up with  _ something  _ to say to Monty during times like these, but he’s at a loss for words.  _ It’s never been this bad.  _

Percy feels Monty start shaking. At first, he thinks Monty is crying, but he’s laughing. Monty is laughing, a little bit hysterically. “That’s what, Perce? Awful? Terrible? Why does it even matter anymore? None of it  _ fucking  _ matters,” Monty snaps. That’s when Percy notices the tears on Monty’s face, how his laugh is mirthless, accompanied by sobs.

Percy hesitantly spreads his arms, and pulls Monty close when he nods. Monty cries into Percy’s chest for what feels like years. Percy wonders how many years’ worth of tears Monty is getting out right now. Percy hasn’t seen Monty cry in a long time.

“I’m sorry, Monty. I’m so sorry,” Percy says.

Monty sits up, looking agitated. “Did you say something?” When Percy nods, Monty cries harder. He looks like he hates himself for it. “Fuck, I didn’t hear you.”

“It’s okay. It wasn’t important. Just come here.” He pulls Monty close again. He lets him cry for as long as he needs to. Percy wants to cry, too. But he’s too angry. Percy feels so angry that he would kill for Monty at the moment. He’s so angry because Monty may be a bit of an ass sometimes, but nobody deserves to be treated this way by their parents, especially not him. He wants to tell Monty all of that but Monty would have to move again to hear him.

Then, Percy takes Monty by his shoulders and pushes him back. “Monty, you can’t stay with him.” 

“What?”

“You can’t stay with your parents. You have to leave, tell the doctors so you can get away from them, something.”

“He’d kill me.”

“He’s going to kill you anyway,” Percy says. He can see how his words hit but he knows he’s right. “Monty, he will. If you keep living with your father, he’s going to kill you one day.” Percy likes to think Monty would leave when he turns eighteen, but he doesn’t believe it. Monty feels dependent on his father. Monty doesn’t think he’s worth anything without family money. He’s told Percy as much.

“He wouldn’t . . .” Monty starts to say. But he can’t finish that sentence. They both know that, at this point, there’s no guarantee that Monty’s father would be careful with how he treats Monty, or that his mother would stop his father.

“Monty, you can’t stay with your father.”

“What would I do without my father?”

For a few beats, Percy is silent. He has so many answers to that:  _ not be afraid, be happy, be safe, get help, get better, be yourself again.  _ Instead, he says, “You could do whatever you want.”

Monty scoffs. “With what? Where? All I have belongs to my father.”

Percy takes Monty’s hand. “Stay with me. I can talk my dad into it, I’m sure. You can stay with me for a little bit, we could get an apartment during college, help you get on your feet,” he says, pleading.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, Perce.”

“You’re not. I’m asking you to let me. I can’t just let you go on like this. Not when your father . . .” Percy trails off. There are hundreds of ways to finish that sentence. “Please, Monty.”  _ Please, for once, take my help. You need it. _

Monty starts picking at his nail polish again. “I don’t know, Perce. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself without my father around,” he admits, quietly.

“I know. But you’ll figure it out.” Percy could see Monty doing so much. He always could, in another life. But now, it’s a real possibility.

There’s a soft knock at the door before Felicity steps in. She looks surprised, a bit bashful, like she’s invaded a private moment. “Mother texted me. They’re on their way back,” she says.

Percy looks back at Monty, his eyes full of questions.

Monty takes a shaky breath. “Feli? Can you get the doctor for me?”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Felicity asks, studying Monty like she’s checking for new injuries.

“Nothing, I just . . . need to talk to her.”

“Yeah, sure,” Felicity says. She slips out again.

Percy puts an arm around Monty’s shoulders. “This will be a good thing.”

Monty hums in response. “If you’re wrong, I’ll personally murder you.”

Percy still has trouble recognizing Monty, his best friend. But he knows that, given time, Monty will be himself again. He knows that he’ll be able to recognize Monty and, when Monty is more stable and if Percy is lucky, as more than a best friend.


End file.
